


The Many Avoidable FuckUps of Theodore Laurence

by victorli



Category: Little Women (1994), Little Women (2019), Little Women Series - Louisa May Alcott
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Victorian, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Gen, Light Angst, Marriage Proposal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-18
Updated: 2020-06-20
Packaged: 2021-02-27 15:20:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,418
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22299211
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/victorli/pseuds/victorli
Summary: “How are the women of London treating you?”“There have been no women since Paris.” Since you.-Frankly there just haven't been enough juicy Amy/Laurie fics so I wrote my own on muscle relaxers. Enjoy.
Relationships: John Brooke/Margaret March, Theodore Laurence/Amy March
Comments: 45
Kudos: 469





	1. Chapter 1

From far away they must make quite the picture, Fred Vaughn and the dainty American floating down the river in a gondola. It’s a bit kitschy, Amy muses, for her to be in Paris and this man to drag her onto an Italian style boat, but she knows not to say anything. Fred is posed at the top of the boat, legs sprawling everywhere as he ardently ignores the sweet man steering. He draws on about something he learned at his fancy boarding school, never one to miss an opportunity to embellish his wealth, and she nods and smiles, exercising the best of her pandering talent. It’s a shame the man Aunt March had picked was such a bore, but the woman could smell fiscal endowment from a mile away. Amy was to trust her aunt.  
Fred broke his words for just a moment, finally seeming to notice his companion’s thoughts were abroad. “Tell me Amy,” he said, an obvious effect on his voice, “would you do me the honor of putting this moment to paper? I have brought materials for you.”  
She glanced up from beneath the brim of the new sunhat he had gifted her, brushing the tail of its bow off her neck. “A new drawing book?” she exclaimed, doing her best to act like she hadn’t been eyeing it since they pushed off the dock. She took it when he passed it over, fingering the graphite and flipping open a page. Then she shot him the sultry look she had been practicing in the mirror, narrowing her eyes dangerously. “Careful Fred, someone might think you’re getting attached.”  
He laughed shortly, leaning back so as to give her a better model. Acquiescing to his silence, she began to sketch. His figure easily appeared upon the paper but as she moved to draw his face, she hardly found herself checking its likeness at all. By the time she had made her way to the illustration of her creation’s cheekbones she was completely gone to the moment. Fred noticed but said nothing, assuming her lost in his features.  
An hour or so later he roused himself, the dock in sight. “Mrs. March,” he began, startling her from her paper, “our day has come to its close. Might I trouble you for a sight of the work that has so engrossed you?”  
Amy looked up, blinking a bit in the sunlight her jilted brim unveiled her too. She bit her lip and looked down at the man on her paper. “P-perhaps I may show it to you tomorrow?” she asked, turning her coquettish eyes to his pinking face. “I couldn’t bear to show you a project unfinished, it would do dishonor to my feelings.”  
Appeased by her words, Fred helped her from the boat, the pink shawl she wore to accompany her yellow summer dress gathered up in his arms. All the ride home she was unusually quiet, and he felt lost to converse with her if she would not contribute her usual silver tongue. Their farewells were subdues, with just a gentle kiss to her cheek as she crawled awkwardly from the carriage. (Descending from carriages gracefully had never been something Amy was particularly good at. She told herself not to fret, but frankly it was starting to wear on her pride.)  
She watched until the horses were out of sight, the sketchbook clutched between her fingertips. When there was no more Fred in sight she flipped it open to the drawing, tears pricking her eyes. The man on the paper was no more the man she intended to marry than a gondola is a boat made in Paris. His name scratched at the back of her throat but she bit it down, turning heel into the house. There would be no more room for silliness like this, she scolded herself. She had a mission, a man to wed, and now a new sketch to make. There would be no more time for silliness like this.

-

The first few weeks had found Amy March incredibly lonely. There were only so many teas a girl could have with the endearing hag that was Aunt March before she found herself going crazy. If not for the occasional company of Fred Vaughn and his awful boarding schoolmates, Amy was sure she’d have burned all of her paintings and gone back to America, to hell with it all. Still, when she spotted Laurie from high on her aunt’s carriage, a welcome change from her humdrum vacation, all she could feel was fear. She was that little girl again, the girl who’d received lashings and found solace in a boy locked in a birdcage mansion. She was 13 making a mold of her feet for a boy who barely knew her name. She was 13 and stupid again.  
It didn’t stop her from pleading Aunt March to stop, tumbling out of the carriage (someday she would get that right), and into Laurie’s familiar cologne. He held on tighter than she every could have expected, and she pulled away to speak before she could make something of it.  
“Well! Of all the people to see wandering the lovelorn streets of Paris! Laurie, do tell, what brings you to my vacation?”  
“Of course to see you My Lady, what else could bring me so far to the desperate corners of the earth?”  
It was good to be back in their usual repartee, parrying with words and saying nothing of meaning at all again. It was good to have him near her again. It was good to force that same carefree smile on her face. It was good, good, good to be close enough to touch Theodore Laurence.  
“Have you been up to much trouble lately Mr. Laurence? Terrorized enough Parisian girls with that smile?”  
Oh what would she give for him to just deny her jokes.  
“You’ve caught me oh taskmistress from across the Pacific. These Parisian girls have brought me many a good time, but none so good as seeing your face.”  
“You must come see it again then, for a better time.”  
“Oh but certainly My Lady, name a time and place and I will play fool to the queen’s court for as long as she wishes. Or as long as the drink lasts.”  
“A ball, tonight, at the Vaughn’s estate. I’m sure I can get Fred to let a last minute guest slide on my account. You must come, I command it.”  
The dear boy’s eye twitches but he covers it with a wicked grin and an exaggerated bow. “Come I will, your highness. I will be most excited to see what her ladyship wears to a Vaughn party. They’re said to be the primmest of all.”  
And before she can respond, Aunt March is calling her name, and their time together is stolen. She hops back up on the carriage (this mount much more graceful) and is only appeased when she manages to shout out three or so more invitations. He doesn’t respond, only watches her leave with that same lovely smile on his face.  
Oh Laurie, she muses, breath catching on a tight knot in her throat. Paris hasn’t been the balm to your wounds your grandfather hoped it would be.

-

Amy readies herself for the ball far more vigorously than usual. She emerges from a rose water bath pink and flushed, and takes great pains choosing her dress. The final product is a glowing red tulle masterpiece, with a train that takes her strides to move. There are no straps on her shoulders, and she fingers the tulle puffs at the top as a maid heats her hair into loose ringlets. The woman runs her fingers down Amy’s scalp to break up the curls as Amy pinches her cheeks in the mirror. She tweaks her nose out of habit and practices her smiles in the mirror as the woman pins half her hair up. She looks like an otherworldly seductress. She looks good, she knows she looks good, and she finds herself musing as to whether it will be enough to distract Laurie from the more willing girls that are sure to latch onto him. When she catches her own thoughts her fingers bunch the dress into knots, and the maid’s spend an extra 20 minutes shaking out the fussy tulle.  
“You look beautiful miss!” the Parisian handlady exclaimed, her wrinkled cheeks glowing with girlish excitement. She placed a hand on Amy’s shoulder, squeezing. “You look like a queen.”  
Tears sprung to her eyes, an old woman’s kindness rendering her speechless. She raised a gloved hand to the woman’s, squeezing gently back. “I know.”

-

When she arrives, Laurie is nowhere to be seen, dashing her hopes of him catching her entrance. Still, it’s not entirely wasted, as Fred practically trips over himself to take her coat and reveal her bare shoulders to his eyes. His greeting kiss to the cheek is a bit more prolonged than usual, and his arm finds her waist as a pretty blush dots her cheeks.  
She spends the next hour or so floating from notable person to notable person, playing the role of Fred Vaughn’s witty female companion. It’s only when he leaves her to grab them champagne that she sees the man she’d been looking for.  
He looks so beautiful, sprawled out on the fainting couch in an obviously rumpled dress shirt, that it takes her a moment to absorb the women hanging off him. How completely humiliating! How dare he come as her guest, only to drink and indulge in women’s affections. Didn’t he realize how a single slip up on a woman’s part could ruin her standing forever? Sure it was all well and good for him, he was a man. He was allowed such silly mishaps. But she was a March. She was poor, a social climber using her aunt’s status to find her way into high society so she may secure prosperity and a future for her own family. She couldn’t afford to even associate with folly.  
“Well, little Amy’s all grown up!” Laurie called, his voice ringing out too loud over the soft violin music. More than a few jewel ladened heads turned their way. She stormed over to him, doing her best to look as if she was doing anything but storming. He was still talking.  
“My goodness Amy, you certainly clean up nice. Come to join us? I was just telling these girls about my adventures with your tenacious sisters.” He turned to the girls beside him, eyes struggling to focus as he stared down their bodices. They tittered and Amy saw red.  
“How dare you?!” she screamed, the whole party stopping around them. Fred, a few paces away, froze in his tracks. “How dare you use the love my family has shown you as a party trick?”  
Laurie’s face hardened, and he began to rise as she continued on.  
“Do you think their kindness is a fun party trick? A good story to tell women so they might join you in bed later? Oh, isn’t it funny, these poor women thought they were doing me so much good, I allowed them that comfort as a favor? Telling these stupid girls all sorts of things so they might believe you a philanthropist?”  
“And how are you different?” Laurie asked, a cold sneer in his slurred words. “Are you not using your poor background to set yourself apart in Fred Vaughn’s eyes?”  
Amy reeled back in shock, barely noticing that Laurie had stormed off. She whirled around to meet Fred’s eyes, the five feet between them feeling an ocean. Before he could even speak she had dropped into her lowest curtsy, murmured an apology, and taken off running through the ballroom.  
-

When Laurie wakes the morning after, it’s too a pounding headache and the black pit that fills ones stomach when something has gone terribly wrong. He foregoes breakfast in favor of riding a horse directly to the residence the Marches are staying in. Amy refuses to see him, sending the maid from last night down to tell him she isn’t in.

-

The next day, Laurie catches sight of Amy in an outdoor painting class. She stands at an easel surrounded by Fred and his friends, wearing only a green skirt and white button down shirt. He begins to head over, hoping that he might better apologize if she has nowhere to run but stops when Fred leans in close to Amy’s face. He watches as she lets the young man get close enough for her to surprise him with a splatter of white paint to the face. Their laughter carries across the road and he only notices as he turns heel that his fingernails have left indents in his palms.

-

He goes a week without seeing hide nor hair of Amy March. His dreams are filled with red tulle, crying girls at the window of his mansion, and blonde hair sweaty on pillows. He doesn’t venture near a bar for fear of spotting her among the women he treats so poorly.

-

Amy is finally caught alone on one of her few days off. Her painting classes have consumed every waking moment since the ball, she has ensured herself of it, and she is proud to report that her thoughts have not strayed from Fred Vaughn more than is acceptable. If she didn’t know better (and she knows far, far better) she’d say she’s finally falling for him.  
It’s with a light heart that she takes a day to herself, bringing only a sketchbook and a small picnic with her to the high gardens. She foregoes a carriage, taking the bicycle Fred recently leant her. It is with great satisfaction that she hitches her skirt up over the seat and takes off.  
Among the grass and flowers there is peace. She sketches nothing in particular, shapes she sees in the clouds, hands of women passing by tucked into the crook of men’s arms, flowers that strike her fancy. It isn’t until he clears his throat that she realizes Laurie is laying beside her.

-

How could he have missed it? It’s so clear. It’s clear in the way his palms are still scarred from his nails, it’s clear in the way he took out the casing of her feet to look at the other night, it’s clear in the way he yearns to take her sketchbook from her and kiss her charcoaled fingers. It’s so clear.

-

Her heart goes still for once, at the sight of him. She’s never felt so lost and so in control at the same time.

-

She isn’t speaking. He supposes that’s fair. It’s his turn to explain himself after all.

-

Laurie rolls onto his side, propping his chin up on his hand and staring at her. She stares back. She’s clearly not going to be cowed this time, or allow her good upbringing to force her into conversation, so he skips greetings.  
“I’m sorry.” It isn’t enough. She grimaces.  
“Amy, draw me. Make me as ugly as you possibly can. Draw me with a beer belly and devil’s horns. Anything as long as you listen.” She doesn’t respond, but she does pick up her pen and begins to draw an outline of a man, so he takes that as a white flag.  
“Look, I’ve been hurting since Jo. I decided I wouldn’t take it on, that I would run away from the March family and America. It’s easier to speak of you all as a quaint childhood memory than to be honest.”  
Amy pauses in her sketching for a moment, turning sharp blue eyes on him. His throat closes and he coughs for a moment, startled by the lack of emotion in her face.  
“When I left America, I vowed I would never let anyone see how much all of you meant to me. I would become what everyone in my grandfather’s circles expected me to be, an ill mannered half breed mutt. I thought I could get away with it because I assumed if Jo didn’t want me around anymore, you all would take her side,” when she cast another sharp look his way he tripped over himself to recover, “not that I would blame you!”  
Amy sighed, setting the pencil down. “So instead of healing yourself from the loss of a woman who never loved you back, you treat other women the way you perceive her to have treated you.”  
Who was this creature, so knowledgeable and sharp of tongue? This was not his Amy of past.  
“Don’t marry Vaughn.”

-

He could not be serious. Amy’s spine stiffened at his words and after a good long pause she whirled on him, tears in her eyes. “You vagrant!”  
Without thought for appearances she tucked the pen into her bun, flipped the drawing book close, and began to smack him with it, hard. “Coward! Liar! Enemy of women!”  
“Ow ow ow! Amy!”  
When she was quite through she picked her basket up and stood, tears rolling down her cheeks. “Don’t do this Laurie. Don’t ask me to play placeholder. I would think you’d be a little kinder to the little girl who’s loved you since you tended to her lashings.”  
And with that she stormed off, leaving him with the image of her tear tracked face burned into the place between his collar bones.

-

Laurie came to see her one last time, to beg for her forgiveness. He’s met with Aunt March who tells him Amy is with Vaughn. The woman seems giddy and he reads between the lines. He’s on the next train to London. Amy March returns to the vacation home, a disappointment to her aunt, and full of anger.

-

Her Ladyship, Ms. Amy March,  
I suppose by this point I should be addressing this to Mrs. Vaughn, but you’ll forgive me that the thought makes me violently ill.  
I’m writing to you on the off chance I don’t catch you before I leave to London. I wanted you to know some things before you get married. I wish I could tell you this isn’t a last ditch effort to keep you from marrying a man who isn’t me, but I always have been a bit of a pitiful creature. You’ve certainly seen that for yourself in the past month or two.  
Amy, I never thought to be in love with you. I was always around Jo, I craved her attention and her crazy games, her messy curls and her chaotic spirit. It’s not much of a surprise I didn’t see the rest of you. I was so certain in my love of Jo, I never questioned what that love was.  
I do love your sister. I always will. She is the Romeo to my Mercutio, the Tiberon to my Puck, the Henry 8th to my six wives. She is my greatest comrade and the romantic center of my childhood.  
But I am a man now. I am a man and I now know what it is to want a woman the way a man does. And I have never wanted your sister that way.  
When I wake up from sleep, cheeks flushed and utterly bothered in the sweetest of tortures, it was not your sister I was dreaming of. The eyes in my hell dreams are blue, not brown. The hair on my dream pillows is blonde, not brown, and stick straight. And when I wake up, pardon my crudeness, hard and aching for touch, it is not your sister whom I am thinking of when I finally get satisfaction.  
I can’t believe I’m writing to a March girl about this.  
Amy, even now, writing this letter, I ache for you. And not only the you in my dreams from the devil himself. I never did get to tell you, but I wanted so badly to be sober enough to dance with you at that ball. Fred Vaughn has no idea how lucky he was to walk around with such a vision on his arm. That dress made you nothing less than Helen, and I would send all of my ships to be sunk for the chance to redo that night so we might dance. To say nothing for the day I saw you flirting with that lucky ass (you’ll really have to forgive the vulgarity of this whole letter), and wished so hard that it was my face you were playfully flicking paint on. That’s how pathetic I’ve become at your mercy Lady March. I would envy Fred Vaughn for the paint on his face. I’m a mess. You’ve made me a mess.  
Amy, you are only second to yourself, only third to yourself, only last to yourself. I only want to see you in white, wearing my ring. I have no desire left for another. Please don’t be the second March to break my heart. Please don’t be the first to reject my only real proposal.  
I love you Amy March. I love you, for all of my shortcomings.  
Forever Yours,  
Theodore Laurence

-

London was droll. It rained often and now that Laurie had sworn off women and drink, there was only endless walking to be done. He walked through art galleries, through parks, through thoroughfares and nothing ever seemed to catch his fancy. He had taken up making lists of all the boring things he had seen, and little notebooks had begun to pile up in the room he was boarding. Piles next to the piles of letters from his grandfather, inquiring after his return. It seemed Beth had died. Laurie had cried for three hours before passing out when he heard the news, though he had not been close to her. Still, another way the March family was leaving him behind.  
He had also taken up cooking classes, finding that the act of preparing his own meals made his day. He had made good friends with the head chef at the boarding house, and bothered her with his nonsense questions till she shooed him out of the kitchen in irritation. She let him use the stove after dark, and it was one of those times he was attempting to make a crepe batter that the night attendant announced he had a visitor.  
The poor servant couldn’t hardly get through his announcement when the visitor stormed in through the door, dressed in a coal coat over a black silk dress. No hoop to this skirt he noticed, before the shock of Amy March in his kitchen hit him and he stumbled back into the hot stove.

-

They sat in the drawing room, Amy having been sent to wait there while Laurie got his hand bandaged up. She was standing next to the fireplace, coat gone, and Laurie’s eyes seemed to be stuck on the chest her dress showed. He had sad eyes, she noticed. Since when had her Laurie had sad eyes?  
“I came to find you,” she started awkwardly. His eyes flicked up to search hers, nodding stiffly.  
“I know. I suppose congratulations are in order,” he responded, tone equally as stiff.  
“How are the women of London treating you?”  
“There have been no women since Paris.” Since you.  
Amy held still for a moment, not daring to breathe, before she crashed into Laurie, knocking him down to the couch. Without giving him a moment’s worth of pause her lips were on his, fire and desperation like whisky on her tongue.  
“I wanted this,” she murmured, speaking between kisses, “for so long.”  
“Amy …” Laurie breathed, hands coming up to gently hold her wait. “Amy, Amy, Amy.”  
It was several moments before they broke apart, chests rising in a heated attempt to catch their breath. Laurie kept searching for the woman’s eyes but she kept hers locked on the part of his neck her fingers were locked around.  
“I got your note. I came right away,” she mumbled, cheeks a bright red entirely different from the flush Fred Vaughn had given her at the ball.  
“I … what does this mean Amy? You are not an adulterer. Don’t let me taint you like this. Please.”  
Amy chuckled, her eyes finally dragging up to lock onto his. “You think you have the power to tarnish me, my Lord?” she teased, running her thumb over his bottom lip in a move that had him releasing a long sigh. “I said no to Fred Vaughn. I said no to that man before I ever laid eyes on your letter.” She sat back, seemingly totally comfortable in her place astride his lap. “Now, you may have changed your mind about me, but I have not changed mine about you. Theodore Laurence, will you be my fiance?”  
A few tense moments passed. Then Laurie started to laugh.  
Only then did Amy seem to realize how compromising their position was. She whined and moved to climb off him but he wrapped his arms around her and pulled her back down. Their lips met again and all of the stress of the past months washed away between sweet kisses.  
“I know I have no right to ask-” Laurie kissed her, “Laurie this is serious,” another kiss, “Laurie enough! Answer me!”  
The boy finally pulled off her, the non bandaged hand coming up to pull her hair free from it’s coil. He twisted a piece around his finger, then tucked it behind her ear. “Let’s be married my Lady. Let’s be married.”


	2. Supper, Sitting Rooms, and the Many Complications of Returning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Amy and Laurie return to the March household. It goes about as well as one can expect when one has eloped.

Amy March is, first and foremost, a March girl. Though her last name is changed, her goals in life atypical of one of her mother’s daughters, and her demeanor not up to par (in her opinion), she puts family above all else.  
Having a wedding without the rest of her sisters haunts Amy the whole boat trip back to Massachusetts. She spends the long days taking turns about the helm of the boat, Laurie by her side, and she isn’t sad. In some ways it feels like a honeymoon, like their being so locked up together is all she really needed. When she was young and silly she used to tell herself that being with Laurie was all she needed to be happy. And in a lot of ways, that Amy was right. She absolutely cannot deny that Laurie makes her laugh even when she is deep in the throes of missing Beth, that he knows just when to hold her close and just when to sing quietly through the bathroom door till she’s ready to come out.  
Honestly she doesn’t know how she ever satisfied herself with only his words on a page. While his crude words brought a flush to her cheeks even when he was in London, the things he said in person were liquifying. His fingers - his fingers made her guts squeeze tight into her belly before spilling out onto the floor. He was so good with them, she didn’t know it was ever going to feel so wonderful. When Aunt March had approached her about the marital night, the advice she had given was to “lie back and think of the queen”. With Laurie’s tongue -that wicked tongue!- she didn’t have the presence of mind to make a sound, let alone form enough thought to think about the colony’s former governess.  
But still. She had gotten married without her family. And it was a sharp pin in the wedding dress she wore at the European chapel.  
When she and Laurie docked in the Boston Harbor, Amy felt a rising sort of grit in her lungs. It wasn’t vomit, she knew what vomit felt like. It was more like someone had poured liquid cobblestone into her longs. Her breaths were short and her chest was tight. When she looked over at Laurie his face was ashen, and she knew he was feeling the same thing. She reached over to take his hand, and squeezed. As much as Amy was now a Laurence, Laurie was a March. He had been for years, even before they married. Amy was sure he was fretting over losing his place at the dinner table.  
The carriage pulled up to the March house to quiet. Mr. Brook’s, Johns, coat hung on a rack outside. Laurie leaned in to instruct the carriage driver on where their luggage was to be taken, Amy stood by his side and fretted.   
“Well then.” Laurie looked straight forward at the house like a man sentenced to death row. Amy wished she knew the right words to say. Jo would have known the right words to say.  
“Come, my lord,” she said, trying for light as she slipped her arm through his. “The sooner we get in, the sooner we get to supper and a bed that doesn’t rock.”  
And with a devious grin, Laurie started pulling her towards the house. “Don’t tempt me, seductress.”  
There wasn’t much fanfare to their arrival. As soon as the door had opened, Laurie had slipped his arm out of her hold. No one needed to know yet. But it hurt when Jo threw herself headlong into her Teddy’s arms, and Amy could only stand uncomfortably to the side. Was she so second that her own sister wouldn’t acknowledge her? Light, graceful, soothing.  
Amy took Jo into her arms indulgently, and then let her guard down entirely. For a moment she could almost pretend it was Beth she was holding. Then Jo was pulling back and talking a million miles a minute and Beth could only push back the tears forming.   
Amy and Laurie were fussed and fretted over. Kisses were placed on cheeks and foreheads. Presents were bestowed by the “globetrotters”. Mr. March slapped Laurie on the back good naturedly, and Amy say a second of sheer panic flash over his face before he schooled it into a laugh.   
Dinner was easy. It always was, in the March household. Good times and bad times, the Marches left it all at the door to eat. It was easy setting up too, so easy Amy almost didn’t notice that Jo had disappeared along with her husband. When they slipped into their seats for dinner, Amy forced herself to ignore their red rimmed eyes. She shoved all the insecurities and anger swirling in her breast down to rest on the bottom lining of her stomach. Now was not the time. Dinner was easy. Even if Jo wasn’t talking and Laurie’s hands were shaking. Dinner must be easy.  
Meg suggested they move to the sitting room for after dinner tea and desert. John Brooks ducked out to bring the twins home and put them to bed. Amy settled on her father's armchair, a long running joke between the two of them that Amy had taken over the role of commander in chief while her father was gone. He winked at her and went to sit between Meg and Jo on the couch. Marmee bustled about doling out tea and a slice of cake for everyone, but when she ran out of steam she settled on a cushion on the floor, face still warm from the heat of the oven. Laurie settled on Amy’s chair and winked at her when she glanced up at him. She looked out over her family and a piece fell onto the board, waiting to be pushed into place.  
It was just at the moment that all was quiet that Jo blurted out, “how could you?”  
The whole family swung around to stare at her. Beside Amy, Laurie took in a sharp breath.   
“How could you Amy?” Jo insisted, standing up from the couch. “Going off and getting married while the rest of us were here taking care of Beth! How could you? Leaving me with all the burden in the world and going off galavanting around Europe!” By the end her voice was breaking, and Amy stared in horror.   
Meg stood up, grabbing Jo roughly by the wrist and yanking her out into the corridor. In the silence that followed, both the elder Marches mouths hanging slightly ajar, the sounds of Meg’s angry voice could be heard (“ungrateful girl! - I was here just as much … didn’t ask to be sent off like a touring pony and you think … her fault Aunt March is angry …”).  
“I think,” Mr. March ventured in the quiet. “That you might have something to tell us, Amy?”  
A dam broke. “Oh papa, we didn’t mean for it to happen so quick! But then the boat ride was the next day and I was just so heartbroken, and he makes it bearable, he really does. I wanted you to be there but you were across the ocean and I couldn’t have come home early enough without a chaperone and I couldn’t wait any longer so-”  
“Amy!” Marmee cried. “We’re not angry! We just want to know why Mr. Vaughn wasn’t good enough to escort you home himself!”  
Amy froze. A laugh startled out of Laurie. Meg and Jo filtered back into the room, Jo looking abashed, Meg looking fierce.   
“You all think …” Laurie began, running his eyes over the present Marches. “That Amy married Fred?”  
“Who else would she have married?” Meg asked, suddenly confused.  
“Oh for peets sake!” Jo exclaimed. “She’s gone and married Laurie, don’t you see?”  
“Well,” Amy said dazedly, “I’d say it’s more like he married me.”  
Laurie stood up, tucking his hands behind his back the way he did when he was nervous. “It wasn’t meant to go this way. I was planning on waiting for your alls approval and marrying her here, but she needed a chaperone to get back for Beth. It seemed logical.” Amy put her hand on his clasped fists. He glanced behind him to give her a smile.  
There was a tense moment while Mr. March stood up. However, the second he pulled Laurie into a hug all the noise in the world rushed back into the March sitting room and the March women began fussing over the new couple.   
They spoke about how sweet they two were, telling embarrassing stories of Amy’s affections for Laurie as a little girl, till the teacups were drained. Jo sat quietly, though not contentedly, and Amy clocked that in her head as something to attend to later. This was her moment to relish in her family’s approval, Jo be damned.  
“Beth would be so proud,” Marmee said wistfully, “to see you two so happy and complete.” They all paused. Their eyes were wet. Laurie cleared his throat.  
“I was hoping, actually …” he trailed off, setting his teacup down and turning to Amy.  
“Amy March,” he began, getting on to one knee. Marmee gasped. “We have been married for approximately three weeks and it has been the happiest three weeks of my life. You are imperfect in so many ways my love. You refuse to be wrong, you spend ridiculous amounts of time in the mirror when I need to use the latrine, you pick yourself apart for not being a good enough March, and you’ve no interest in Shakespeare which is frankly a crime.” Amy wrinkled her nose up, but a smile was starting to spread across her face. Meg clutched at her chest.  
“But Amy, those are the best things about you. Tolstoy once said that if one looks for perfection, they’ll never be content. I chased perfection for a long time. The perfect match, the perfect life, the perfect ending. Something that would be crystalline from the outside. Something no one could look at and question. Instead I found you. And you have proved to me over and over again that beauty without flaw is boring. That life without edge is only enjoyable from the outside. That you are perfect for me in every way.  
Amy March. Will you do me the honor of remarrying me in the eyes of the court and marrying me for the beginning of our lifetimes before our family.”  
Amy smiled. She sank down on her knees in front of Laurie, and took his hands in hers. She adamantly ignored the voice in the back of her head that told her this was not appropriate for their current setting.   
“Theodore Laurence. I have always known what love was. Love was Jo writing me into her plays when she didn’t have a role for me prewritten. Love was Marmee donating her good scarf to an old man in the services line. Love was Meg teaching me to curl my hair with a hot iron. Love is Beth, who will never leave me.   
I thought love was me making a mold of my foot for you, once upon a time. But the truth is, I did not know what loving you was until I challenged you. When I finally said to you the things I would not say in the rose tint of my youth, I saw you for your actuallness, and not for the ‘Teddy’ Jo would bring home.  
I know love now Laurie. I’m never letting him go. Yes, I will marry you before our family. I will marry you every time you ask.”

Later Amy would pull Jo aside. She would sit on the porch steps with her sister as the sun broke over the forest and listen as Jo talked about loving Laurie. She would hold Jo’s hand as the girl admitted to craving the comfort of his familiarity. She would smile and kiss her sister’s forehead when she cried, begging Amy to forgive her for lashing out.  
And then it would be Amy’s turn to unload, talking about how awful it felt to be sent away all those times, to find out Beth had passed and she hadn’t been around to say goodbye. It would be Amy’s turn to admit that she had stolen one thing from each of her sisters for the trip, and that she had been hiding in the bathroom while Laurie sang to cry over Beth’s rusted necklace. And Jo would hold her and tell her it was alright. Jo would whisper stories about Beth’s last few days as Amy sobbed, rocking the two of them back and forth.  
Later, Jo and Amy would sit on the porch whispering conspiratorially secrets about Europe and Laurie till the sun set behind them. Later Jo and Amy would skip lunch on the weekends to run about town fetching this and that just for an excuse to get away together. Later Jo would be best man and bridesmaid at the wedding.  
Later.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I refuse to believe that Laurie isn't an absolute BEAST in bed.  
> Or that Amy and Jo aren't good people with deep flaws.  
> Family is complex and beautiful.  
> Sorry it's taken me so long to post an update!   
> Any comments you have are much appreciated, criticism or praise. I love to hear from you all.

**Author's Note:**

> Please, comment's are always welcome and celebrated. I'll respond to all I can!  
> I seem to only write these two when I'm sleep deprived and emotional, so I can't promise any consistency, but I can promise future content.  
> Stay healthy, stay masked, stay safe (BLM!)


End file.
